Dreams and Dreams Destroyed
by Pelahnar
Summary: Nini is a child growing up at the Moulin Rouge. She dreams of dancing and singing with the can-can girls and is told she has the talent to do it. Will her dreams come true? Well, no, it says so in the title. But why not?
1. The Sparkling Diamond

******Dreams and Dreams Destroyed**

**Disclaimer: Read my Moulin Rouge stories, ok? Just read them and tell me if you notice something - does Satine ever die in them? No! Absolutely not! If I owned this movie, she wouldn't've died at the end - I would've saved her at all cost! And not only that, but Nini would've had a much larger role. Clearly, I was not in any way connected with the creation of this wonderful story. I can claim more in this one than normal though - so far, at least, Nini is the only recognizable character in this story. Harold will probably appear soon, Toulouse, Arabia, even Satine herself eventually, but right now she's alone among OC's**

**Note: Nini is about 12 in this chapter and is called Nadine, because she hasn't yet acquired the nickname. **

**Another note: This is a prequel to How She Felt, which was written as a prequel to If Only You Knew. I don't really care what order you read them in, and I don't think it really matters. So, enjoy!**

**Chapter 1: The Sparkling Diamond**

Nadine giggled as she watched the can-can dancers twirl across the stage. Their brightly colored dresses spun, making her dizzy, but she didn't care. She'd been fascinated by these girls all her life, attending their practices, idolizing them, trying to imitate their perfect moves. And tonight she'd been able to sneak into the Moulin Rouge to actually see them perform.

The excitement in the air infected her and she had to force herself not to join them like she sometimes did during rehearsals. They'd laugh at her and shoo her away then, but her mother had forbidden her to go to the club at night, so who knows what would happen if she were discovered.

But she wouldn't be – Nadine was carefully hidden away underneath one of the few unoccupied tables in the corner. As long as she didn't draw attention to herself, no one would ever know she'd been there.

Nadine's grin faded and she cocked her head to one side in confusion. The girls had taken partners now – men who'd come to see them just as Nadine had. She drew back, slightly horrified at the dance in front of her. _Why_ would anyone ruin such a beautiful dance with those sorts of moves? The men couldn't actually dance, that much was obvious, and most of them weren't even trying – they were just trying to get much closer to the girls then Nadine thought necessary. Or even possible.

Then the lights dimmed and Nadine gasped with anticipation, just like everyone else. _This_ was what she'd really come for and she knew it would make up for the awful things the men had done on the dance floor a few minutes before. Slowly, a white-clad woman was lowered on a fancy trapeze. Nadine smiled as the woman turned toward her – Desiree Rousseau, the Sparkling Diamond.

Desiree Rousseau was, in Nadine's opinion, the loveliest woman in the world. She had long, shiny black hair that she spent hours brushing and now hung past her waist, swinging slowly. In the half-light, her pale skin shone with a pearly glow, an effect only accentuated by the sparkling dress. _Oh, that dress!_ Nadine stared at it almost hungrily. Desiree was a goddess in that dress. There was no other way to put it: she was a shining, 27-year-old beacon of dormant power, gracing the Moulin Rouge with her presence for only a short time. A goddess.

And she was Nadine's mother.

"**The French . . . are glad . . . to die . . . for love.**" Desiree sang softly. Nadine closed her eyes, drinking it in. As far as she was concerned, there was no more beautiful a sound on earth and no more beautiful a woman to make it. "**But I prefer a man who lives . . . and gives expensive . . . jewels!**"

The music began once more and Nadine almost started to cheer along with everyone else, but stopped herself just in time. She stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as her mother's trapeze began to spin around the stage and Desiree filled the hall with her beautiful laughter. There was another sound to rival all others.

Nadine had heard her sing _Diamants_ before, of course, but she'd never seen it performed. It was all improvisation, her mother told her, so there was no way to practice. Nadine had always wondered how improvisation could possibly work – what if she took a wrong step, or ran into someone else? – but now she understood. Desiree didn't just make things up as she went along – she watched the crowd carefully and listened to the orchestra, choosing her steps accordingly and dancing them as surely as though they had been rehearsed.

For the rest of the song, Nadine was unable to tear her eyes from her mother's shining figure. The dress, the music, the dancing – it was all so beautiful that Nadine could hardly stand not being a part of it. She wished it would go on forever and for the next few minutes it seemed like it was going to. How could such a wonderful night ever end? Nadine hardly notice how close the end was until she heard those dreaded final notes, "**Diamonds . . . are a . . . girl's . . . best . . . friend!"**

Nadine found herself wiping away tears as her mother vanished into the ceiling again. The crowd was cheering, begging for her to come back, but Nadine knew better. Now that her number was over, Desiree Rousseau wouldn't be returning.

Which meant, Nadine realized suddenly, that she should go. But the can-can girls were on the dance floor again – alone, thank god – and she hesitated. Surely a few more minutes couldn't hurt. She sat tensely, undecided for a few seconds, then gave into temptation. She relaxed, and soon was giggling at the dancers' moves once more.

Nadine didn't know how it had happened. One minute, she'd been staring at the girls, the room full of blazing lights and color, the next she felt someone shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see a dark, empty hall and knew at once she was in trouble – the Moulin Rouge didn't sleep until very early in the morning, which meant she'd been sleeping for several hours.

"Come on, young lady. That's enough excitement for one night." Nadine groaned, for the first time in her life wishing someone other than her mother were waking her up. Desiree sighed and pulled her daughter to her feet. "It's past your bedtime."

"I've been sleeping." Nadine murmured groggily. Desiree gave a low chuckle and led her back to their rooms in the Moulin.

Nadine went to bed and fell asleep again almost instantly. For the rest of the night, she dreamed of wild dances and beautiful voices, bright colors and spinning skirts. When she woke rather abruptly the next morning, there was only one thought in her head. _This is what I want_.

To dance the can-can, to sing _Diamants_, to dress in flowing dresses and to hear people cheering just for her. She wanted it all, more than she'd ever wanted anything before. Giggling quietly, she got up and hurried to the window, flinging it open. She leaned forward, breathing in the fresh air deeply. "**Diamonds! Are a girl's . . . best . . . friend!**" She sang, surprised at the sound of her own singing voice, rarely before used.

Nadine laughed out loud and turned back to the room. Her smile faded as she saw her mother watching her from across the room. She'd expected Desiree to be angry, since she'd disobeyed her orders, but instead there was a quizzical frown on her face. "So . . . you enjoyed the show last night?" she asked.

Nadine nodded eagerly, forgetting to look abashed. "Oh yes!" she cried. "It was wonderful!" _Well, except for when those men came and ruined the can-can . . ._ she added silently. Desiree nodded slowly, still looking thoughtful. "Mother?" She asked uncertainly. "Are – are you angry with me?" Sometimes it was hard to tell.

"No." Desiree answered after a long pause. "No, I'm not. I think you're now old enough to see the dances as they are meant to be seen." Nadine gasped, and clapped her hands together in delight.

"Really? You mean it?"

Desiree chuckled softly. "Of course." She answered. "In fact – darling, I've seen you dance and even heard you sing on occasion. You have talent and that is something that's hard to come by here." Nadine opened her mouth to protest – the girls had talent, plenty of it! – but Desiree continued, "I think that, with some training, you could join us on the dance floor soon." Nadine's mouth was still open, but it was now in shock.

"I – I'm not _that_ good . . ." she stammered. Her mother laughed sweetly.

"Not yet, perhaps, but I think . . . yes, I think you could be. Now, you have to understand – all the talent in the world does not make you a performer. It takes practice – years of practice – and lots of hard work. But you're almost twelve now – you're not a child anymore, Nadine. Are you willing to try?" Her mother's voice seemed to be coming from a long way off. _Her_ a dancer? Join the girls on the stage? The dreams she'd only just realized she had suddenly seemed possible and for a few seconds she envisioned herself on the trapeze and heard the crowd's cheers below her. Cheering for her. "Nadine?" Desiree pulled her out of her imagination. "Would you like that?"

"What? Would I like it?" Nadine asked, incredulously. "Mother, I'd love it! I'll do anything, I promise! I don't care how much work it will take, or practice! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She ran across the room and hugged her mother tightly. When she let go, Desiree kissed her cheek lightly.

"Your lessons start this afternoon then." Smiling, Desiree left the room and Nadine went back to the window. She grinned as one of the windmill's arms swung down in front of her. Slowly, she sank to the floor and happily lost herself in wild daydreams of the day when her name would be known by everyone.

**A/N: I think I like Nini as a child. She's fun to write, full of an energy that she doesn't have in How She Felt and If Only You Knew. **

**Please review - I'll read whatever you've written (that I know the story of) and review it too, I promise! Review! Review! I like reviewers.**


	2. Memories

**I'm very very very sorry for the long wait! I don't know how long it's been, but in any case much too long! Sorry!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge, though I can take credit for Desiree Rousseau, whom I'm starting to like.**

**A/N #1: IF YOU HAVE NOT READ 'IF ONLY YOU KNEW' AND 'HOW SHE FELT', PLEASE GO DO SO NOW! I know I said it didn't matter, but that was before I had a very firm grasp on how this story was going to work. I am planning on filling in some of the holes in IOYK, and there will be spoilers, starting in this chapter. **

**A/N #2: Italics are supposed to be Desiree's thoughts - try to hear them with an echo, because that's how I thought they should be, and understand that the large number of '...''s (what's the name for that? Ellipsis, or something, I think) the large number of ellipses are supposed to mean that she's only remembering fragments (they aren't just pauses, in other words). **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: Memories**

Desiree smiled at her daughter's enthusiasm, but couldn't help worry that what Nadine now thought was just dancing would become – well, this was the Moulin Rouge.

"_I am Harold Zidler, owner of the Moulin Rouge…do you understand, Desiree? Working here involves more than just dancing…they'll expect you to go with them…and if you work here, you have to do it…"_

"_I need the job, Monsieur Zidler…I can't worry about the sacrifice…I need the money…"_

Harold had warned her, before she took the job, of course. He'd warned her, but she hadn't understood. She was, after all only fifteen years old at the time.

"_You are lovely, you are talented…you will be the Sparkling Diamond, and everyone will love you…"_

_Love. It was what she'd expected, and what she'd gotten – both during her show, and later. The cheers of the adoring crowds had intoxicated as much as the Absinthe she had refused to drink would have._

"_You are beautiful Mam'selle…will you come with me tonight…?" Charles Atwood. An English gentleman. He was handsome, he was charming. Unlike many of the men, he could actually dance. And it was part of her job._

"_Of course, Monsieur…"_

Desiree pulled herself out of memories as she reached Harold's office. She entered slowly. The room was not large, but what wall-space there was was covered in posters that featured the red windmill and faceless – though full-figured – black-haired cartoons of herself.

"Desiree!" Harold saw her and cried out jovially. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Nadine came to the performance last night." She said quietly. Harold began to apologize, but Desiree shook her head. "It was not your fault – if anything it was mine for forbidding her. But no matter now – I have agreed to give her dancing lessons – she wishes to join us on the dance floor eventually."

Harold laughed. "I've seen her dance – she could join us tonight if you like!"

"She is talented, yes," Desiree answered, smiling. "But all the talent in the world does not make one a dancer. She must practice, and learn to focus. She is a dreamer." Desiree paused before getting to her point. "But, the other girls – Harold, I don't want her to become like those girls."

"There's nothing wrong with my girls! They're wonderful people!"

"Perhaps," she said smoothly, though she could name a few who weren't. Clara Crimbly, for example. "But even so, they are not treated as such. I don't want her to be hurt, Harold. Ever." She added, coldly serious.

Slowly, Harold Zidler nodded. Desiree smiled once more, and excused herself. It was never said out loud that the can-can dancers of the Moulin Rouge were prostitutes. Of course not. Harold had fought long and hard to get everyone to understand – he ran a dancehall, not a brothel. Still, the girls' dances involved too many lifted skirts and too much contact with their patrons to be considered respectable. And now, Harold was shocked to think Nadine could be employed _without_ selling herself. Desiree sighed heavily.

_She'd woken the next morning sobbing, and trying to forget what had happened. She'd shoved his money into he bottom of a drawer and thrown herself whole-heartedly into practice for that evening, but his last words to her kept echoing eerily in her head._

"_I'll be back…"_

_And he was. He was back that night, and the next, and the next…after a week, she'd gone to Harold in desperation._

"_It is you job, darling…if you don't like him, then go with someone else…there's plenty to chose from…" he told her gently._

_But going with someone different each night – like most of the girls did – was even_ _more repulsive to her than staying with him. "I want to dance…that is what's important. Not him. Dancing."_

_She convinced herself that the joy of being the Sparkling Diamond outweighed the horror and despair of being a courtesan. For almost three months, she convinced herself of this. And then…_

"_Desiree? My dearest Diamond, aren't you coming…?"_

"_No…Monsieur, please…I'm pregnant…please…"_

_After that – she could remember running. Running and crying and running some more. Eventually she found her way back to the Moulin Rouge and collapsed on her bed, giving in to the tears completely… _

Desiree brought herself back to the present once more. Had she called _Nadine_ a dreamer? Well, at least her daughter could think of the future, instead of forever dwelling on the past.

"I hear little Nini is going to be joining us soon." A voice said behind her.

Desiree turned and groaned inwardly upon recognizing the speaker. "Yes, but not _too_ soon, I hope, Clara." Desiree answered quietly.

Clara Crimbly grinned mischievously. She was one of the few girls that really enjoyed prostitution and often went out of her way to show it. "So I guess she'll also…though I suppose she is a bit young."

"She is much to young." Desiree said sharply. "And she will not _ever_ join you in that way if I can help it."

Clara laughed. "Well, if you really _want_ her to live on the streets, then don't let me stop you!" She tossed her hair – bright, red hair – haughtily.

That hair, much too bright to be natural, irrationally bothered Desiree, and sparked her anger. "Nadine is _not_ going to live on the streets." She said forcefully. "She is going to become a much better dancer than you and your kind. Perhaps she'll be the next Sparkling Diamond – I certainly wouldn't be surprised. Or maybe she'll be sensible and leave this place completely. She could become a world-renowned dancer, and I will not allow her opportunity to be destroyed by a nighttime visitor like mine –" She stopped, then finished coldly. "Like yours was."

"World renowned, huh?" Clara asked, mock-impressed. "Well, we'll see how far that gets, won't we?" She grinned once more and turned on her heel to stalk off in the direction of the Moulin.

"Mother? Do you really think I could do all that?" Nadine peeked out from behind a nearby wall. Evidently, she'd listened to the entire conversation. "Or, was it just because of Clara that you said that?"

"Of course it wasn't because of Clara!" Desiree laughed. "I think that you can do anything you want to." Nadine smiled. "Let me rephrase that – I _know_ you can do anything you want to. It just takes the willpower – and practice, of course. Lots and lots of practice. And we start in fifteen minutes – don't be late."

Nadine was now positively beaming and, nodding excitedly, she skipped away happily. Maybe Desiree _had_ only been trying to impress Clara with her speech, but now – seeing Nadine's ever-increasing enthusiasm – she knew her words had been absolutely true.


	3. Dancing Lessons

**Disclaimer: Have I convinced you that Moulin Rouge isn't mine yet?**

**A/N: Thanks to all reviewers! Madame Apathy, I'm glad to hear that you are reading my other stories, but I really must insist that you finish them before reading this chapter (if you haven't already). It's probably not as important as I'm making it out to be, but it would ruin a surprise that I'm trying to keep 'till the end of If Only You Knew. 'K?**

**Chapter 3: Dancing Lessons**

_"I'm sorry…I have to…"_

"_No, Desireé…you can't leave…not now…What about the baby…?"_

"_I don't care…I'll survive…Harold, I won't do this anymore…I _can't_ do this anymore…"_

"_Please…don't go…"_

"_I can't…"_

"_You don't have to…please, just dance…stay, and be my Sparkling Diamond…"_

"_Dance…? Just dance…"_

"_Nothing you don't want to…"_

_She had agreed. To dance at the Moulin Rouge – to dance only – was considered impossible. There was no way to make a living at it. But she would survive. She _had_ survived and was proud to know that in the twelve years since Nadine had been born, she had not once reverted to prostitution. Nadine and – _

"Ow!"

Desireé opened her eyes to see Nadine sprawled on the floor. "Concentrate, Nadine." Desireé told her hypocritically.

"I don't get it!" cried the frustrated Nadine. "This looks so easy when you do it!"

Desireé sighed. "It's _supposed_ to look easy – that doesn't mean it is. I don't believe I ever told you that you would be perfect on the first try. I think I said the opposite. Just focus, love, it will come."

Nadine stood up and resumed her position. "Mother?" she asked, frozen in place. "Why are you teaching me ballet? None of the girls at the Moulin know it."

"Because I say so," Desireé answered smiling. Nadine rolled her eyes. "And because you already know the can-can. _And_ because the dances that those girls do are not going to be much use in the real world – and you are going to dance in the real world, right?"

"Right." Nadine's face was set and she began to dance once more, with an air of such intensity that Desireé nearly laughed. This time she finished the routine flawlessly. Nadine relaxed slowly and when she looked up again, her mother was nearly shaking with repressed laughter. "Why are you laughing?" she demanded.

"Nothing, nothing. It was very good. The steps were perfect." She allowed her daughter a moment of pride before continuing. "But, darling, you're never going to convince anyone that it's easy – or that you're having any fun – when you're so tense."

"But…you told me to concentrate – I was concentrating!" she cried, frustrated once more.

"Mmm-hmm – I could tell. And the very fact that I could tell meant that you were focusing everything on the dancing, and nothing on expression." Nadine huffed angrily and prepared to start over. One thing she most certainly didn't lack was determination. "Remember, I don't expect perfection the first few times. Try again." There was no need to tell her twice.

But while her mother didn't expect perfection, Nadine did. Desireé had seen that in their first lesson – this was now their fifth and Nadine had progressed much faster than she'd expected. She had soon given up trying to tell her daughter that the dances they were learning were very advanced – the steps she was having even mild trouble with were far beyond the ability of most twelve-year-olds, even ones who'd had years of training.

There was no explaining this to Nadine, but Desireé didn't see that as an entirely bad thing.

She watched Nadine dance for a few more minutes – her form was improving rapidly – then let herself slipped back into daydreams.

_"I want him."_

_That voice. She thought he was gone for good – that she'd never have to hear his voice again. She turned around quickly. "Monsieur Atwood! I…"_

_"I want him. My son – I want him."_

_It had been nearly nine months to the day since she had last seen Charles Atwood. The father of her daughters, only born a few days before. Yes, daughters. Nadine had a twin, Therésa._

_"I'm sorry, Monsieur…you don't have a son…it was a girl…" There was no need for him to know there was more than one._

_"Then I want her…I don't care…No child of mine is growing up here…"_

_She stared at him, horrified. Surely this wasn't normal – she'd never heard of any other men coming back for children they'd fathered. Then again, most men couldn't be sure the child was theirs… "But, my daughter…" she protested feebly._

_"Don't worry, Dearest Diamond…she'll be fine…she'll have a fine education and be brought up in…proper…society…" If he didn't approve of this society, then what was he doing here? "Here, I'll name her after you…just give me the girl…"_

_She had fought, but he was so forceful…she was worried he would storm the nursery, only to find – and take – both of her beautiful daughters. Finally, when he threatened to do just that, she'd given in._

_Sobbing, she kissed Nadine's forehead. Then Therésa's. She stood over them, unable to move, tears silently running down her cheeks uncontrollably. How was she supposed to let him take one of her children? How was she supposed to decide which one to give him? Finally, when she realized he was waiting, she picked up Therésa and left the nursery._

_And why? Why Therésa, instead of Nadine? Because she was blonde, instead of black-haired. Yes, she'd chosen one daughter over the other based on hair color._

_"Don't cry, my love…she'll be better off with me than she ever would be with you…"_

_She would never forgive herself for actually agreeing with him…_

Desireé felt tears creep to her eyes as she thought of poor Therésa – or Desireé, as she supposed her daughter was called now. Charles had said he was going to name the girl after her.

Nadine spun around the room gracefully, ignorant that another twelve-year-old who looked just like her was somewhere in the world, far away from the Moulin Rouge. Desireé wondered whether Therésa was learning to dance, and whether she loved it as much as Nadine did. She wondered what she was like – kind and energetic, like Nadine was? Had Charles spoiled her, or mistreated her?

Desireé tried to push away the questions she knew she might never know the answers to, but they kept coming back.

Nadine finished the dance again and relaxed with a wide smile on her face. Then she saw the tears in her mother's eyes and kicked at the floor angrily. "I suppose there's something else that I'm supposed to be concentrating on, then, and doing terrible?"

"It was beautiful, darling. Beautiful." Desireé quickly wiped away the tears and smiled. "How about we leave it at that – you've worked hard enough today for a week's worth of lessons. Go play." Nadine ran off, but Desireé knew better than to think that she was going to play. Lately, most of her daughter's free time had been used for dance practice.

Desireé stared out the window sadly, still thinking of Therésa. Where was she, the daughter she hadn't since for eleven years? Did she know who her mother was? Did she care? One giant arm of the Moulin swept down in front of her.

Once again, her unanswerable questions were interrupted. "So, how's it comin'?" Clara drawled from the doorway. "She ready for Broadway yet?"

"Nearly. She's very good." Desireé murmured, not looking away from the window. "Was there something else you wanted?"

"No, just checking on little Nini's progress." She left – laughing, though Desireé didn't know why. Surely she couldn't tell from the back how much the words had angered her. Nini. It was the name of a prostitute and Clara knew that. No self-respecting woman was called Nini.

Desireé sighed heavily and sat down in the nearest chair. Nadine would not become a prostitute if she had anything to do with it. Not ever.

**Please review!**


	4. Dreams and Nightmares

**Chapter 4: Dreams and Nightmares**

**Disclaimer: Mesa no owns Red Windmill. Mesa wishes mesa did, but mesa must say not. Yousa knows this, mesa tinks.**

**A/N: Personally, I enjoyed this chapter - it has some angst in it, which is always fun to write, if not always to read. Oh, well.  
A/N 2: I must go on a small tangent: I love Caroline O'Connor! If you haven't read If Ony You Knew (which you should've already) Caroline O'Connor is the actor who played Nini as well as an absolutely AMAZING singer. If you've never heard her, I suggest you go look her up on Youtube _right now_. Yes, even before you read this chapter! Back to the story...**

Despite Nadine's constant pleas, it was another three years before Desireé allowed her daughter to actually join the Diamond Dogs, though she continued to attend their practices and watch the performances. It simply wouldn't look good, she decided, for a girl of much less than fifteen to be on the dance floor.

"So, how do I look?"

Nadine, dressed in her new can-can dress for the first time, smiled weakly and spun around for inspection. "Well, not everyone could pull off wearing something that yellow." Desireé said critically. "But on you, my dear, it looks beautiful." The smile broadened and Nadine turned toward the door happily.

"Oh, one last thing before you go –" Desireé had never told Nadine exactly what was expected from the girls at the Moulin Rouge, and even now she didn't want to go into specifics. Still, she had to say something. "There are times when you'll dance with the customers, this you know." Nadine nodded, grimacing. "I must warn you that some of them will ask you to come with them, or meet them afterward. When they do, just say no. Be polite, but it's very important that you decline everyone."

Another nod, and this time her mother did not stop her as she flew excitedly out the door. With a sigh, Desireé began to do her own make-up, desperately hoping that nothing would go wrong.

She needn't have worried. Everything worked out perfectly. Afterward, Nadine came into their room grinning broadly and declaring that she'd never been more exhilarated in her life. "I know the feeling." Desireé told her.

"How did I do?" Nadine changed subjects, immediately looking less happy and more anxious. "I don't think I messed up too much, but –"

"You were wonderful, darling!" Of course, it had been hard for Desireé to see her clearly from the trapeze, but she had no doubt her words were true, and they returned the light to Nadine's eyes. "And now, I think you should get some sleep."

"Sleep?" Nadine laughed. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight – I'm too excited!"

"I know that feeling, too. But you have to try – you don't want to be too tired to perform tomorrow night, do you?" Nadine sadly agreed, and reluctantly got ready for bed.

Over the past three years, Desireé had taught Nadine every style of dance she knew. It was hardly all-inclusive – she'd never learned any Latin dances, for example, so she couldn't teach them – but when the time came for her daughter to make her own way in the world, Desireé knew she would not want for ability.

Despite her predictions of insomnia, Nadine did fall asleep that night. It was extremely tiring, dancing the can-can – or even dancing in general. She hadn't had a hard time sleeping since her lessons had started.

The next morning, she awoke smiling and remembered the previous night. The colors, the music, the cheering. And finally, after the promised years of practice and hard work, she'd been a part of it. What had her mother said at the last lesson? "I don't think there's anything more I can teach you, darling. The rest comes from experience."

Nothing more to be taught. It was, at the same time, an exhilarating and saddening thought. What was she supposed to do now? Ballet, the can-can, tap-dancing - they had not quenched her thirst for dances. Sure they were fun right now, but doing the same things over and over would never suit her. There was really only one choice – she had to keep learning.

Not from her mother of course – Desireé had already said that she knew nothing more. But the other girls…none of them were as experienced as Desireé, but that didn't mean the others were completely ignorant of anything besides the can-can. She could ask them – beg them – to teach her anything they knew. Dancing, singing, acting – she wanted it all. Yes, she could learn from the other girls.

Pleased with her plan, Nadine leapt out of bed and ate breakfast quickly. Her quest for more steps would begin that morning, because she couldn't bear to wait any longer.

The next few months past quickly. Nadine continued to can-can at night, and expand her musical knowledge in the daytime. She got singing lessons from Henrietta, and acting lessons from Penelope. Veronique even knew some country-dances that Desireé – born and bred in Paris – had never learned.

It was so much like a dream that Nadine knew would have to end eventually.

" Oh, Nini!" called a singsong voice behind her.

Nadine turned, sighing at the nickname. She'd asked Clara to stop calling her that, but had been refused. Clara had even added to it after that.

"Nini Legs-in-the-Air!"

So what if she enjoyed the occasional high kick? That wasn't a crime. "Yes, Rara?" Clara blinked, looking confused. "What? You gave me a nickname, so I gave you one." Nadine shrugged.

"You're going to end up just like your mother." Clara told her scathingly.

It was Nadine's turn to be confused. She would end up like Desireé? What – gorgeously beautiful? Wondrously talented? No matter how she looked at this sentence, she was unable to turn it into an insult. "I – like my mother? What?"

"Don't act like you don't know, Nini. Everyone knows this place is really a whorehouse and all the girls are prostitutes. What makes you think dear Desireé is any different? The fact that she's the 'Sparkling Diamond'?" Clara arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"What! But…that's – that's not possible!" Nadine stuttered, feeling her world tumbling to pieces around her. Clara continued, her voice sounding strangely far away. "She's only fifteen years older than you are, sister – how else would that have happened?"

Nadine began breathing harder and her heart rate increased, screaming out in denial. "No…" she murmured helplessly. It can't be true… She'd known about the other girls, of course. It was impossible not to considering that even the best of them gossiped about it constantly.

But Desireé…

No! Not Desireé!

Nadine left Clara, who was laughing uproariously, and walked up to the room she shared with Desireé. She still felt like she was in a dream, but the dream had changed. Now it was a nightmare.

Surely, if her mother really were…like the others… surely Nadine would know. They lived together, after all! They only had one room. Still…

Nadine sat down on the bed, tears springing to her eyes. Had Desireé been lying to her all along? She dropped her head into her hands, not wanting to believe it.

"Honey?" The door opened slowly. "Dearest, what's wrong?" Desireé asked, sounding worried.

Nadine quickly brushed away the tears. "Nothing." She said forcefully, not looking up.

"Something's wrong, darling, it's obvious." Her mother said more gently. "Please, talk to me. Tell me what happened." She knelt down next to the bed. Nadine pulled her eyes from the floor and gazed into her mother's for a long moment. Then she shook her head violently.

"Nothing's wrong!" She almost yelled, jumping to her feet. She opened her mouth to say more – shout accusations, maybe – but changed her mind and half-ran for the door, fighting back tears again.

"Nadine." Desireé melodic voice called after her. "Nadine!" Nadine didn't stop. At that moment, she felt like she was never going to stop.

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	5. The Evil Practice of Prostitution

**Disclaimer: Mesa still no owns Moulin Rouge. **

**A/N: A fast update - you should be happy. I am. Yes, very proud of myself.**

**Spanish translation: 'Ella se llamó Roxanne' means Her name was Roxanne, or more literally, She called herself Roxanne. I like the second version better, actually. It's more...literary? Or something. I've actually taken 4 years of Spanish, so hopefully my conjugation is correct, but if it's not, please please _please_ tell me.**

**Chapter 5: The Evil Practice of Prostitution**

"Desireé – about Nadine…"

"I don't know what's wrong with her, Harold – she won't talk to me anymore." Desireé sighed heavily, wondering what had happened to Nadine. "Besides, whatever it is, it's between us."

"Yes, but dearest, her dancing is suffering because of – whatever it is. I don't want to interfere with family matters or whatever this is, but it affects her performance. Something's wrong, and I need you to fix it." Harold said firmly.

Absorbed in trying to get Nadine to talk to her again, hadn't even been paying attention to how she was performing. The Nadine she knew wouldn't let anything stop her from being nearly perfect on the dance floor. If that had changed, maybe this was more serious than she'd thought.

"Nadine! Stop!" Desireé ran to catch up with her daughter, who had just been leaving the dance hall after a practice. Reluctantly, Nadine slowed, then stopped without turning around. "Darling, I need to know what's wrong –"

Nadine didn't let her finish. "Nothing!" she said harshly, and started to leave.

"Wait!" Desireé ordered and caught her arm. "You leave the room whenever I come in, you haven't spoken more than two words together to me for the past three weeks, and now Harold tells me your dancing has gotten much worse. Yet you still expect me to believe that nothing's the matter – _something_'s the matter, and you need to tell me what it is."

"Go away." Nadine tried to leave again.

"No, I won't!" For the first time – ever – Desireé was angry with her daughter. "Not until you answer me – what happened, Nadine?"

Nadine sighed. "Clara said –" she began. "She told me that … you were …" she stopped, apparently unwilling to repeat what Clara had said, but Desireé understood.

"A prostitute?" She finished.

Finally, Nadine looked at her, tears shining in her eyes. "Yes. She said that, considering how young you are, compared to me…" Desireé fought the urge to laugh - or cry. Weeks of isolation from her daughter, and they were caused by a single, spiteful rumor?

"Nadine, you believed Clara – Clara Crimbly, of all people! – rather than asking me? Or even looking at the facts – we sleep in the same room, Nadine!" Desireé cried.

"I – I know, but…" Nadine trailed off. "So, it's not true?"

"Of course not!"

Nadine nodded slowly, but she didn't seem convinced. "My father, then. Who was my father?"

Desireé closed her eyes. "Your father. Right. Come with me."

They went up to their room where Desireé pulled a photograph out of the bottom of the chest of drawers. "This is Charles. Your father." She said, handing it to Nadine. "I should've told you about him years ago, but…I was ashamed, I suppose. And you're so young."

"I'm no younger then you were when you knew him!"

"True enough. He was a – customer at the Moulin Rouge. A regular." Desireé began.

"But you said you're not a prostitute." Nadine narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, but I didn't say I never was." Desireé sighed. "I was young – yes, I know I was your age, you're young too – and I wanted to dance. I'm sure you understand." Nadine nodded. "At the time I was willing to give up anything – everything – to fulfill the dream of becoming a dancer. But at the same time, I needed to be able to make a living. No where except the Moulin Rouge paid enough to do that, and at the Moulin Rouge – part of my job was prostitution. I was desperate."

Nadine crossed her arms. "I don't think you should've done it – started working here." She said stubbornly.

Desireé smiled. "You don't understand exactly what desperation is, and I hope you never will. But I did take the job, all parts of it. Including Charles."

"But," Nadine frowned at the picture. "You're sure he's my father?"

"Quite sure – there were never any others."

"None?"

"None. After you were born, Harold let me quit prostitution, though to this day I'm not sure whether that was because he actually cared about me, or because I threatened to leave if he didn't."

"Mother!" Nadine grinned. "I've never thought you were the diva type!"

Desireé laughed. "So, are we friends again? Even if I did dabble in the evil practice of prostitution?"

Her daughter sighed, then nodded. Then she looked at the clock and gave a little yelp. "I'm late for my singing lesson!" she cried, jumping up. "I have to go!" she gave her mother a swift kiss on the cheek and ran out of the room.

Smiling sadly, Desireé watched her go and wondered whether she should've mentioned Therésa.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Henrietta! I was –" Nadine nearly ran into the dance hall, to find her voice instructor and a number of the other girls sitting on the floor, crowded around a man Nadine didn't recognize.

Henrietta turned at the mention of her name, and quickly beckoned Nadine forward. The stranger was telling a story. "Ella se llamó Roxanne…" While none of the words made any sense to her, Nadine was mesmerized by the story, by his voice. She slowly joined the others on the floor and found herself disappointed, along with all the rest of the girls, when it was over. Well, all the rest save one…

"Would you mind repeating that in French? Or English, I'm not too picky about languages as long as I speak them." Clara said loudly from the back of the newcomer's audience.

"Oh, will you shut up, Rara!" Nadine cried, exasperated. "It was a beautiful story, even if I didn't understand a word, which you'd know if you had any appreciation for beauty at all!"

Clara looked affronted, but then the stranger spoke again and Nadine forgot about her. "Would you like it translated?" He asked, directing the question at Nadine herself. His voice, so fluid in his own language, was harsh and heavily accented in English. "Or – would you like me to show you?"

"Show me?" asked Nadine, confused.

"You are a dancer, no?" she nodded eagerly. "Yes – it shows in how you hold yourself. So, then, dance with me."

He held out his hand toward her and pulled her to her feet when she took it. "Dance? How can dancing tell a story?" She asked breathlessly.

"You have never heard of the Tango? The dance of the broken-hearted." Someone began to play the piano. "El Tango de Roxanne…" He whispered, leading her onto the dance floor.

"I don't know how to tango –" Nadine protested, but he smiled.

"Do not worry – I will teach you."

**A/N: I have a very terrible idea rolling around in my head - to write a companion one-shot that tells the Argentinean's (yes, that was the Argentinean, if you hadn't figured it out) whole story. That's not the terrible part - what's terrible is that I really really want to write it in Spanish. The whole thing. Scary. I should destroy this idea before it takes over too completely...whoops, too late. Ok, so I will write the one-shot, though not necessarily in Spanish. Who knows when that will be written, so don't like, lose sleep waiting for it or something.**

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	6. The Meaning of Desperation

**Disclaimer: I disclaim all rights the the Moulin Rouge. **

**A/N: A few chapters ago, I had Clara mention Broadway - I looked that up the other day and learned that being Broadway wasn't really renowned until the early twentieth century, especially not in Europe. Sorry. I should've used Satine's line - "the great stages of Europe" or something. **

**Chapter 6: The Meaning of Desperation**

Nadine added the Tango to her list of lessons and it soon became her favorite. Her teacher, who wouldn't name himself, was simply called the Argentinean – that was where he was from, Argentina and he spoke Spanish. Nadine, finding the title too long and cumbersome, quickly shortened it to an affectionate Argie. He didn't seem to mind.

Argie was not the only newcomer to the Moulin Rouge. He had come with a group of self-proclaimed "Bohemians." Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec, the dwarf painter with a lisp. Satie, a hyper-active pianist who never seemed to be far from his instrument (it was he who'd started playing at Nadine's first lesson). The full-bearded man with a strange affiliation to explosions. And Audrey, the transvestite who called himself (herself?) a writer, though after reading some of his work, Nadine doubted the legitimacy of this statement.

They all promoted what Toulouse called 'the Bohemian ideals' – Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love. Nadine wondered where Bohemia was, and whether it was close to Argentina.

"It is not a place." Argie sighed exasperated, when she asked him. "Well, it is – somewhere in eastern Europe, I think. But it is not where we come from, it is an idea – a revolution. Truth, beauty, freedom, and love. You know."

Nadine grinned. "Yes, Toulouse's marvelous ideals," she answered dryly.

"Not just Toulouse's. But you do not like our ideals?"

"They're… they're great, Argie." Nadine said slowly. "But the Bohemian ideals are rather – idealistic." He raised his eyebrows. "They don't exist. Not here anyway." She gave the darkened dancehall that they were sitting in a tired glance.

"No?" Argie asked, pulling her to her feet. Satie started playing the tango again as he led her onto the floor and they began to dance. "If you think there is no beauty here, I must say, you are extremely mistaken."

"Well, yes, there's Desireé…"

"Nadine, I was talking about you."

Unfortunately, Argie said this as she was spinning outward and at the words, Nadine lost her grip on his hand. She spun out of control, barely regaining her balance without falling. "What?"

"You're beautiful."

Satie stopped playing and silence filled the hall, his words echoing slightly.

For a few long seconds, Nadine said nothing. She was frozen on the spot, about ten feet away from Argie. Beautiful? Her? She'd been told she was beautiful before, of course. The men she danced with complimented her looks nightly, but they didn't count, since she knew exactly what they wanted. Desireé, too, had spoken the words every day, but Nadine had never believed it. But there was a sincerity in Arfie's voice that she'd never heard before, and she didn't know how to respond.

Finally, she said stiffly, "Thank you." And the music started once more.

Nadine concentrated on the dance while Argie tried to come up with examples of the other Bohemian ideals at the Moulin Rouge. He eventually had to give up on love. "You're mother loves you," he said.

"That doesn't count, it'd be true anywhere. And it's not romantic love, anyway." Nadine answered.

"Who says love has to be romantic? I will agree, there's no romantic love here, though." They danced in silence for another hour.

Later, Nadine almost laughed, trying and failing to imagine someone falling in love at the Moulin Rouge. That just didn't happen at brothels. Girls ran off with their customers all the time – but as mistresses, never wives.

Between runaways and disease, the workers at the Moulin were constantly changing. The clap, the pox…the list of illnesses – usually terminal – went on and on. But there were always more girls to replace the ones who left or died.

So, it was no surprise when, about five years after the Bohemians arrived, Clara came down with consumption. There was no cure, the doctor said, and while Nadine tried to be sad when she died, it came as more of a relief. Especially after weeks of listening to that horrible cough.

Nadine was twenty at the time and Desireé had officially allowed her to drink Absinthe occasionally. After they learned Clara's death she was in Bar Absinthe exercising this freedom – they were _not_ celebrating, she told herself firmly – with Argie, Toulouse, and Satie.

Another customer, who Nadine didn't know, suddenly wolf-whistled and said drunkenly. "Will you look at what just came in!" Nadine turned around along with everyone else, but unlike everyone else, she had no desire to jeer at the unfortunate subject of that remark.

She was young, probably younger than Nadine herself and was staring directly forward, apparently not hearing the men who were now yelling out to her. Her hair was so tangled and dirty that Nadine wasn't sure was color it was underneath. Her face and dress were smeared with grime that could only have been picked up by sleeping in the streets. But it was her clear blue eyes, wide and red-rimmed, that most moved Nadine to pity this poor girl.

They were filled with an emotion that Nadine had never actually seen, only heard described. Desperation. Pure desperation.

The man who had wolf-whistled jumped to his feet and grabbed her by the arm roughly. He muttered something suggestively into her ear and as the others laughed loudly, Nadine decided she'd had enough. "Stop it!" she cried, standing up.

The bar fell silent, everyone staring at her. "Stop it." She repeated, more quietly. Slowly, she approached the girl, who was looking at her with mingle relief and confusion. "Come with me."

They left the bar quickly and went up to Nadine's room. "What's your name?" Nadine asked.

"Satine. Satine Mercer."

Nadine snorted. "English. You might want to change that."

"Change – what?"

"The name. Mercer. It screams English, and you're in France now. Try something more French – like Poisson, I've always liked the name Poisson. I'm Nadine. Are you hungry?" The sudden change of subject didn't seemed to throw Satine at all – her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly. Nadine gave her a piece of bread and watched her gobble it eagerly. "How long've you been on the streets?"

Satine slowed in eating slightly, apparently thinking. "I'm not sure – about three weeks, I think."

Nadine shuddered. There were people worse off of course – people who'd lived on the streets all their lives. Still, to someone who'd never wanted for a bed, the prospect of spending weeks on the hard ground seemed unbearable. "You have a job?"

She shrugged. "Do you call walking the streets at night a job?" Ah, she was a prostitute. Along with every other girl who had to make her own living. "I sing at bars sometimes. I went there –" she gestured toward Bar Absinthe "- to ask for a job, but I take it they weren't very interested." She let out a short, hollow laugh.

"No…but if you can sing…can you dance?" Nadine mused, almost to herself.

"Not very well." Satine answered.

"No matter, you can learn. It's not hard. There's a job opening here, at the Moulin Rouge – you should take it!"

"The Moulin Rouge…I've never heard of it."

"It's a dancehall. And a bordello – unofficially, of course, but it pays better than working on the streets and guarantees a roof over your head, if not much more." Nadine told her eagerly. "I'm sure Harold would give you the job if you asked for it, as long as you can sing and dance a little. And you might want to clean up first."

Satine glanced down at her clothing and nodded slowly. "Oh, how old are you?" Nadine asked suddenly as they stood up.

"Eighteen."

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	7. The New Courtesan

**Disclaimer: *zzzzzzzzzzzzz* Whatwhat? Oh...no, no, it's not mine... *zzzzzzzzzzzzzz***

**Chapter 7: The New Courtesan**

Nadine was impressed. Not only with herself for managing to get the tangles out of Satine's hair, but with the change that washing the dirt and grime off of her face and clothes had brought about. She was, when clean, almost ghostly pale and her hair was dark red – moreover, it looked natural, which Clara's never had.

But there was something else different about her too that Nadine couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the spark of hope that had entered her eyes, or the lessening of the desperation.

"What's your name?" Harold asked, looking Satine up and down.

"Satine…" she glanced at Nadine, then finished, "Poisson. Satine Poisson."

"And you can sing and dance, Mam'selle Satine?" Harold inquired.

"Just sing, I'm afraid. I've never been much of a dancer." She responded almost apologetically.

He lowered his bushy eyebrows slightly, apparently unsure about the answer, but said, "Well, then, sing something for me."

As Satine began to sing, Nadine couldn't help but let out a small gasp. The song she chose was a classical piece, in Latin of all languages, and was definitely out of place at the Moulin Rouge. But Satine's clear, beautiful voice made Nadine and Harold forget that and stare at her, shocked. She hadn't been singing for ten seconds when Harold said, "That's enough, Mam'selle. Nadine, you'll teach her the dances."

Grinning at Satine, Nadine nodded. "Of course."

They left Harold's office and Satine said. "I don't know why you looked so surprised. I said I could sing, didn't I?"

The truth was that Nadine hadn't been expecting a girl she'd found on the street to have so much talent. For obvious reasons, she didn't want to say that out loud. As she led the Moulin Rouge's newest performer down to the dancehall to teach her the can-can, Nadine tried to think of a more polite answer. "Yes, you did, but Satine…you're nearly as good as Desireé!" she said finally as they reached their destination.

"Who's…Desireé…?" Satine asked slowly as she entered the dancehall. The sheer grandeur of this place – the high ceiling, the shining, mahogany floor, the brightly flickering candles – it was enough to take anyone's breath away, Nadine knew from experience. And then there was Desireé herself.

She was in the center of the dance floor, dancing. A passionate ballet that sent her gliding and spinning across the floor as though she was weightless. The pure grace that Desireé was able to bring to the dance was something Nadine had never mastered. It came with practice, her mother said, and could not be taught.

"That's Desireé. She's the Sparkling Diamond. The best dancer – and singer – at the Moulin Rouge." Nadine murmured.

Satine nodded, staring at Nadine's mother with her mouth hanging open, apparently awed beyond capability of speech. Nadine couldn't blame her – Desireé was wearing her Diamants costume, for one thing, and her shiny black hair flowed loosely. The effect was shockingly beautiful, especially for someone who'd never seen her before.

Desireé had realized she had an audience and stopped dancing immediately. She normally didn't let anyone other than Nadine herself to watch her dance like that. She approached them, smiling. "Good afternoon."

"Mother, this is Satine Poisson. She's Clara's replacement." Nadine introduced Satine.

Desireé shook her hand. "I'm Desireé Rousseau. Nice to meet you."

"You too. Your dancing is beautiful."

"Thank you. How's yours?"

Satine looked taken aback. "M-mine?"

"Your dancing." Desireé clarified. "If Harold hired you, you must know how to dance."

"Oh, well, actually…" Satine glanced down, blushing. "I've never really learned…"

Nadine quickly jumped to her rescue. "Satine's a singer. She's got a beautiful voice, but can't really dance – I'm supposed to teach her." She explained.

Desireé raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I should let you get on with that, then. Don't worry," she added to Satine, smiling. "You're in very capable hands."

It was Nadine's turn to blush.

Over the next few hours, Nadine wondered whether her mother had ever felt this frustrated during their lessons together. Somehow, she doubted it – Desireé had always tried to convince her she was an exceedingly fast learner. Satine, on the other hand…she had not been modest at all – she couldn't dance, not to save her life. Her movements were jerky, she was constantly tripping and she could never seem to get a single step right more than twice in a row.

By the end of the afternoon, when the Diamonds Dogs' performance was about to start, it was all Nadine could do to stop herself from dropping her head into her hands. Satine would not be joining them that night, that was for sure.

"I did awful, didn't I? Well, I warned you." Satine was apologizing again.

Nadine didn't feel like lying and nodded. "Not terrible, you just need practice." Lots and lots of practice… "How long did it take you to learn to sing like that?"

"Ten years – ten years of lessons from the best voice teacher in London." Nadine's eyes widened. The best vocal instructor in London…had taught a girl she'd rescued from the streets. Satine saw the question and answered it. "My parents paid – they have plenty of money."

"Then why were you…?"

"On the streets?" Satine laughed. "On my eighteenth birthday, about two months ago, my father decided singing wasn't ladylike and wanted me to quit. Then, when I said I didn't want to, that I loved singing, he introduced me to some…fifty-year-old lord something or other that he wanted me to marry. I refused and ran away from home. I don't regret it, either."

Arching an eyebrow, Nadine asked. "You ran away from marrying one rich old man and came to Paris to sleep with more?"

"That wasn't the plan, obviously!" Cried Satine, exasperatedly. "I wanted to sing – but singing alone doesn't pay very well, as everyone other than me already knew. I couldn't live on it and had to start prostitution. Couldn't really live on that either – I hope it will be better here…"

Seeming unconvinced, Satine left the dancehall. As Nadine joined the others backstage to get ready, an Arabian girl who'd replaced Veronique a few years before asked, "Who was that, Nini? I don't think I've ever seen her before."

Nadine gasped as another girl began tightening her corset. "New dancer. Clara's replacement. And Arabia – oh! – my name's – Nadine!"

"She's pretty." Arabia continued. "Is she good?"

"Singing?" Nadine gasped again – she hated corsets more and more every performance. "Yes. Dancing, not so much. She won't be ready to join us for awhile yet."

Arabia sighed. "That's too bad – she'll be popular, I feel it."

"Yeah…" No one was denying her popularity – Satine was the kind of girl men flocked to. Arabia didn't need a feeling to know that. "It's time. Let's go!"

Slowly, over the next few weeks, Satine improved. In a month, Nadine finally declared her ready to join the rest of the girls, if not by much. Then again, the time was long past that Nadine believed the Diamond Dogs needed talent to perform – all they really needed was a willingness to lift their skirts and the ability to act seductive. Satine was good at both of those.

Arabia's feeling and Nadine's intuition were entirely correct – Satine seemed to become the Moulin Rouge's most sought after courtesan as soon as she stepped onto the dance floor for the first time. She was also a favorite of a lot of the other Diamond Dogs.

Nadine couldn't really blame them – Satine was beautiful, charming, friendly. Nadine liked her too. Through their dancing lessons, Nadine learned more about her past and found herself feeling sorry for anyone who had to grow up parents like Satine's. While Nadine's childhood had been all about expression and fun, Satine had been weighted down all her life with lessons in etiquette and manners and how to behave in a proper society.

Nadine found herself teaching her not only how to dance, but how to act in a place that where there weren't rules and restrictions for everything. Or anything at all, really.

Slowly, she and Satine became close friends.

**Please review!**


	8. Birthday Losses

**Disclaimer: It'sssss mine...my own...my _precioussssss!_ Or it would be if it were a ring of power and my name was Smeagol...*_gollum gollum*..._but it's not, and I'm not (I hope). So, I really can't claim anything besides poor Dezzy.**

**A/N: Warning: Sad chapter - but it was soooo much fun to write that I had to post it as soon as I finished it - at about two in the morning. I do hope my writing didn't suffer for that...I did proofread it, at least. I've had this scene in my head for several weeks and have been dying to reach the point in the story where I could write it so, here it is! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 8: Birthday Losses**

"Happy birthday, Nadine!"

Groaning, Nadine opened her eyes to see Satine smiling at her. She pulled the covers over her head violently, dislodging an envelope that had been laying at the foot of her bed. It fell between the mattress and the wall, completely hidden from sight. "Oh, come on, Nadine! You're twenty-one now – you must wake up and greet this glorious day!" She tugged at the blankets that were still covering Nadine's face. "I have a present for you."

Nadine allowed her eyes to show. "What?" she asked reluctantly.

Satine smiled, and produced a small package from her pocket with a flourish. Nadine opened it slowly and gasped.

"Oh, Satine!" she breathed, holding up a pair of sparkling, diamond earrings. "Satine, they're beautiful! You didn't have to-"

"Yes, I did. You are in desperate need of jewelry, my friend. Put them on!" ordered Satine.

Nadine obeyed, saying, "I won't even ask how you got them – I already know." She got out of bed to examine her reflection in the mirror and her breath caught. Unlike the other Diamond Dogs, Nadine received no jewels from her patrons – gifts like that only came with the other part of the job. The only earrings she had were fairly cheap black ones that Harold had supplied her with as part of the costume. Having the most expensive stone money could buy hanging from her ears was shocking, to say the least. "Thanks."

While Nadine was so avidly stared at her reflection, Satine said. "You'll have to show them to Desireé…" she trailed off, seeming confused. "Nadine, where is Desireé?" she asked.

"What?" Nadine wasn't really listening.

"Her bed hasn't been slept in."

This time, Satine had got her attention. She turned around. "What?" She repeated. Sure enough, her mother had quite obviously not been there that night. They stood in silence for a few seconds, trying to process this. Desireé hadn't spent a night away from this room for as long as Nadine could remember. And if she was going to, Nadine felt sure she would've told her first. But she hadn't.

"Let's ask Harold," Satine decided finally. "He'll probably know."

Nadine didn't like the use of the word probably, but she also realized how likely it was that she was worrying about nothing. She nodded, forcing a smile, and together they left for Harold's office.

"Desireé?" he replied to their question. "No, I haven't seen her this morning. Now that I think about it, I don't think I saw her at all after her number last night."

Nadine began to get an inexplicable cold feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach. She tried to push it back, telling herself it was nothing, that one of the other Diamond Dogs would know where her mother was. But as she and Satine went around the Moulin Rouge asking any girls they met, the answer was always an apologetic no.

The fear grew, despite her attempts to quell it.

"Don't worry, Nadine, she'll show up…" Satine tried to calm her friend's ever-increasing panic as they unsuccessfully searched the dancehall, the Moulin and even Bar Absinthe, though Nadine knew her mother rarely drank any alcohol and never Absinthe.

"Don't say that - 'she'll show up!'" Nadine snapped irrationally. "That's what you say when you've lost a pair of shoes, not when your mother goes missing!" she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I'm just – upset. I mean, where could she be?"

"I...don't know," Satine said slowly, startled by Nadine's unexpected outburst. "But I'm sure she'll have a perfectly good explanation when she comes back."

"She'd better." muttered Nadine and they went back up to her room.

Desireé did not return that day. Harold fretted all afternoon at their practice, finally deciding that they would have to do without her for one night. "I don't like this." Nadine heard him murmuring to himself just before he was supposed to begin that's night's dance. "I don't like this at all."

_You and me, both._ She thought. She exchanged a worried glance with Satine, but it was time for the grand entrance. She forced a smile onto her face and gathered up her skirts. There was no reason for the audience to suspect anything was wrong – not that they wouldn't know when the Sparkling Diamond didn't appear. A lot of the men came to see her, and her alone – how would they react when she didn't come?

Nadine suppressed a shudder. It was just for that night – it had to be. Desireé would be back tomorrow.

But she wasn't. Desireé wasn't back the next day or the day after that. On the fourth day after her disappearance, Nadine returned to Harold's office, alone this time. She opened the door with more force than was necessary and said seriously. "If you know where she is, tell me now." She did not quite succeed in turning all the desperation in her voice into cold anger.

"If I knew where she was, I would've told you before now. You know that." He answered, not looking up. Nadine nodded helplessly, knowing the truth when she heard it. Besides, Desireé was Harold's Sparkling Diamond – she was central to the Moulin Rouge and they wouldn't last long without her. Already, Nadine knew, leaving her out of the performance had hurt profits. As though hearing her thoughts, Harold said, "I think we're going to need someone to sing her _Diamants_ number, temporarily, at least."

Nadine nodded again, more slowly. She'd always known this would have to happen eventually – the Moulin Rouge did need a star, after all. Though she'd never actually thought about the day that she would take over for her mother as Sparkling Diamond, it had always been a goal of hers, unspoken, yet at the same time inevitable. She closed her eyes, trying to visualize the crowd's reaction when they realized-

"So, I'm going to ask Satine to take her place tonight." Harold continued.

Nadine's eyes flew open. "What? Satine!" she cried before she could stop herself.

Finally Harold looked up, confused. "Yes, of course Satine. She's the best singer here, you know that, and the most popular dancer – "

"Popular?" her voice shook slightly and she felt her legs start to shake. She grabbed the desk in front of her to steady herself. "P-Po…popu – Harold, she can't dance to save her life!" It wasn't strictly true – Satine had gotten a lot better since she'd first arrived, but Nadine didn't care.

"She'll do all right. And besides," he gave a low chuckle. "No one will really care."

"No?" Nadine stepped back from the desk. Her voice was forcibly calm. "No, I suppose not. Fine. _Let_ them have a girl with a pretty face and beautiful voice – a girl who can't dance, not at all, but who's willing to sell herself, so what does that matter? _They_ don't care, after all." She let out a sharp laugh. "And much more importantly, _you_ most certainly don't either!"

Nadine turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Once she was out in the open air again, she leaned against the nearest building, breathing hard. The conversation she'd just had and what it meant were slowly sinking in. Satine was the Sparkling Diamond. Not Desireé. Not Nadine. But Satine. It occurred to her that she should be happy for her friend. She shook her head violently at the very thought. Satine did not deserve this job – why should Nadine be happy for her?

"Nadine! What did he say?" It was Satine herself, hurrying over to where Nadine was pressed against the wall of the Moulin.

"He – he said…" Nadine broke off and turned away, carefully removing the earrings that hadn't left her ears since they'd been given. She stared at them, glittering so innocently – so falsely beautiful – in her hand. Then she let them fall to ground.

"Nadine?" Satine's voice seemed to reach her from a very long distance, but Nadine wasn't listening anyway. She began to run and when she reached her room, she locked the door and refused to open it again, not caring how long Satine called to her from the other side.

**Please review!**


	9. Transformation

**Chapter 9: Transformation**

Nadine stood, motionless, against the door of her room waiting for Satine to give up and leave. When she finally did, blessed silence filled the room. Not sure what she was doing, Nadine slowly crossed the room and picked up her pillow. Then she held it to her face and began to scream.

How long the muffled screams lasted – and how long before the tears joined them – Nadine didn't know. When she finally began to calm down, the pillow was soaked and her throat was sore. "Mother…" she moaned, tears threatening to start falling again. "Where are you?"

There was a light knock on the door. "Nadine?"

Nadine jerked, but the voice wasn't Desireé's. It wasn't Satine's either – the voice belonged to Argie. She stood up and opened the door reluctantly. "¿Comó estás, Nadine? "You look terrible." He murmured.

Nadine couldn't help smiling a little. "I've been better. My mother…and Satine…"

"Desireé is gone," Argie said gently, nodding. "And there's nothing to say she's coming back."

At this simple sentence, Nadine's tears began anew. Without thinking, she threw her arms around Argie's neck and cried bitterly into his shoulder. She felt him hug her back and instantly felt better – not a lot, Desireé was still missing and Satine was still the Sparkling Diamond – but a little. At least one person at the Moulin Rouge cared for her.

Softly, Argie began to sing:

"**Yo que te quiero tanto, qué voy a hacer  
****Me dejaste…me dejaste  
****En un tango  
****El alma se me fue  
****Se me fue el corazon  
****Ya no tengo ganas de vivir  
****Porque no te puedo convencer  
****Para regresar a mí, Roxanne…"**

He trailed off and Nadine looked up, wiping away tears. "That's beautiful, but so sad – what does it mean?"

"It speaks of love lost, never to return. It is part of El Tango de Roxanne, but I think it fits here too."

Nadine nodded. _Never to return._ Was she never going to see Desireé again? It was entirely too plausible for Nadine's likely. "Please don't go!" she cried out, as Argie began to pull away. "Please…I need…" He turned back and suddenly Nadine found herself locked in a passionate kiss. They broke apart after a few long seconds – or a few short centuries, one of the two – and Nadine finished breathlessly. "I needed that."

She glanced out the window and saw to her surprise that it was steadily growing darker – the can-can dancers would begin their nightly excursions soon. "I should get back soon – and so should you." Argie said, following her gaze.

"No…I've earned a night off, Harold knows that." Nadine told him. "I want to be able to go to bed at a decent hour tonight – like right now." She sighed heavily and sat on her bed. "Though I don't suppose I'll be able to sleep very well for awhile. Not without Mother…"

Argie knelt down next to her. "You are a big girl – I'm sure you will manage. For now, lie down," she did, closing her eyes, "and I will help for tonight."

Nadine smiled as he began to sing the Roxanne song again, gently caressing her cheek. She was asleep before he finished the single verse.

The next morning, she woke strangely calm, compared to the screaming, crying madness of the day before. She lay in bed for a few minutes, wishing she could stay there forever. Eventually, she gave in and started getting washed in front of the cracked mirror – a mirror that, Desireé had told her, they were extremely lucky to own…

She let down her hair – it was not as long as her mother's, but getting there. But Nadine did not want to bother brushing it that morning. Instead, she grabbed a knife and began viciously chopping it off as short as she could manage. When she finished, she no longer looked like herself. To add to that picture, Nadine began applying make-up, not frugally as her mother normally insisted she do it, but thickly, using the darkest colors she could find. That done, Nadine looked in the mirror once more. And gasped in horror. She looked –

She looked like a prostitute.

Hastily, she grabbed a cloth to wipe it off with, then stopped. Why shouldn't she look like a prostitute? She lived in a whorehouse, after all, she worked in a brothel. Why not look like it? The make-up stayed.

All the misery from the previous day having been washed away or covered up, Nadine finished dressing and proceeded to display her new look to the world. Some, like Argie, were as horrified as she had been at first. Others – mostly the more spiteful girls who had always hated her and her mother for abstaining from prostitution – laughed out loud. Satine, exhilarated from her first night as Sparkling Diamond, didn't even notice her.

Arabia and her friend that Nadine knew only by the name of China Doll told her that it looked really good. "I like it, Nadine! It's great!" They even sounded sincere.

"Thanks Arabia, but…" Nadine paused, almost steeling herself to continue. "But my name's Nini." Arabia's eyes widened. For years, Nadine had insisted that everyone call her by her full name. She had hated any sort of nickname. Especially the one Clara gave her. And now, not even she knew why that had changed – she only knew that it was part of her makeover. "Nini Legs-in-the-Air."

Nini knew that she was being talked about all day – she heard a lot of the conversations, but soon stopped listening. She avoided Satine, spending her time with Arabia, China Doll, and their friend, Môme Fromage instead. Satine didn't seek her out either, but Nini didn't know why – nor did she care.

Finally, evening fell and Nini was relieved to get back on the dance floor – Arabia and her friends did not dance for fun like she did. Relieved, at least, until she remembered that it was not Desireé that would be descending on the jewel-studded trapeze that night.

Nini raised her eyes to the ceiling as the lights dimmed, remembering the first time she'd watched Desireé perform – nearly ten years before. But this wasn't Desireé. It was Satine, Nini reminded herself and felt a surge of hatred as her former friend appeared. She was wearing Desireé's Diamants dress, and that very song was the one she began to sing.

Nini had to force herself not to storm out of the dancehall right then. So great was her anger that she could not even give Satine credit for singing well – she was too upset about the less-than-perfect dancing and the fact that Harold had been right – no matter how terrible Satine's steps were, no one seemed to care. The crowd ate up her every move and note, as enthusiastically as they ever had Desireé's. Perhaps more so, since with Satine there was the chance that she would take one of them to bed with her that night.

When the Diamants dance break came, Nini grabbed the nearest man by the hand, dragging him onto the dance floor, uncaring as to whether he actually wanted to be there or not. Apparently, he did. "Mam'selle?"

"Hmm?" Nini wasn't paying attention to him – she was too busy glaring at Satine.

Undeterred by her lack of interest, her partner went on, "Would you…umm…allow me to join you…tonight…?" Nini's eyes snapped onto his, irrationally surprised by the question – how many other's had wanted the same thing? Though usually it was phrased as a demand, not a request.

"You're new at this, aren't you?" Nini asked with a harsh laugh. The hesitation, the unsure manner, the very fact that he didn't recognize her as the dancer with morals…all screamed that this man was a first timer. Though the last could've been because of the makeover…

Suddenly, it hit her. Why she'd changed her hair and make-up so she'd look like a prostitute. The reason she was now using the nickname that Desireé had denounced as that of a whore. She wasn't just acting like one of the others – she was becoming one of them. And there was only one thing left, to complete her transformation. She grinned widely at her partner. "Of course, monsieur."

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Moulin Rouge...**

**Spanish Translation: All of the following _should_ be right, since I literally copy and pasted it from the internet translation of El Tango de Roxanne - all, that is, except the last line. The actual last line is 'que no te vendas Roxanne' which means 'not to sell yourself, Roxanne' but I didn't think that fit for Desireé, so I changed it to 'to return to me, Roxanne'. Hopefully, I translated it correctly.**

**I who love you so much, what am I to do**  
**You left me, you left me**  
**In a tango**  
**My soul has left me**  
**My heart has left me**  
**I no longer wish to live**  
**Because I cannot convince you**  
**To return to me, Roxanne**

**A/N: So, anyone have any idea what happened to Desire****é? Well, you'd better not, because I don't - that is I do...I have a grand total of _three_ ideas of what could've happened, and I like none of them. I'm not saying what my ideas are, but if you have any that you think are good, please feel free to share them - if I use anything of yours, I promise to credit you. And in so saying...**

******Please review!**


	10. Three Conversations and a Dance

**WARNING: There is a very very tiny bit of femmslash in this chapter - as in, a girl _talks_ about liking another girl. It lasts about a paragraph and is never mentioned again. If you're upset by that, then I denounce you as homophobic, but I know people like to be warned, so here's the warning. **

**A/N: So, this chapter is short, and boring (to me, at least), and my fingernails haven't been trimmed in a week so there are probably typos. I'm very sorry if any of the above bothers you, but this rather pointless chapter needed to be written. It's necessary pointlessness. I think. I hope.**

**A/N #2: I have decided upon a reason for Desireé's disappearance, but to have it make sense, I had to add a few sentences to the beginning of chapter 8. If you do not wish to read the additions there, here they are (differences in italics) : "Groaning, Nadine opened her eyes to see Satine smiling at her. She pulled the covers over her head _violently, dislodging an envelope that had been laying at the foot of her bed. It fell between the mattress and the wall, completely hidden from sight._ "Oh, come on, Nadine! You're twenty-one now – you must wake up and greet this glorious day!""**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 10: Three Conversations and a Dance**

"You're so quiet, Nini. What's up?"

"Mmm," Nini answered noncommittally, not looking up.

"I suppose it makes sense," Arabia continued. "That was your first time last night, wasn't it? I remember –"

"Arabia, I _really_ don't want to talk about this right now."

Arabia obligingly fell silent, allowing Nini to think in peace – not about the previous night, but about Satine. She still couldn't understand how Satine was such a huge success, what with her inability to dance as well as Nini thought a Sparkling Diamond ought to. Yes, she could sing – here, in the daylight, even Nini had to admit that – and she would sell herself, but every other girl here did as much. Arabia could be the Sparkling Diamond, then, or Môme Fromage, if these were the defining criteria.

Finally, Nini couldn't stand it any longer. "Why do you think Harold chose Satine to be the Sparkling Diamond, instead of m – umm, somebody else?" Nini asked Arabia.

Arabia looked up, eyes wide. "I'd have thought that was obvious." She answered, sounding confused. "She's – she's –" for a few hopeful seconds, Nini was sure that Arabia would not be able to find the adjective she was searching for. Then with a small giggle, she finished in a whisper. "_Gorgeous_!"

"Gorgeous." Nini repeated flatly. Arabia nodded and dissolved into giggles again. "The girl's prettier than the rest of us – and that's enough for Harold?"

"Enough for Harold? Hon, that's enough for anyone! Me included…" she trailed off dreamily.

Nini raised an eyebrow. She'd heard of this; girls who fell for each other. In some cases, that was how they'd ended up at the Moulin Rouge. She had, however, never realized that Arabia was one of them – not that she'd ever thought about it, or cared now that she knew. The explanation did make sense though, and lowered her already low expectations of ever replacing Satine – if Harold did not think her more beautiful than his new Sparkling Diamond now, it was unlikely that he ever would. Nini sighed heavily.

Arabia had come out of her dream soon enough to hear the sigh. "Why, who do you think would be a good Sparkl –" realization dawned on her. "Ohhhh, I get it – you're jealous! You think _you_ should be the Sparkling Diamond 'cause Desireé was…!" she cried triumphantly.

"No, I think I should be the Sparkling Diamond because I am unquestionably the best dancer at the Moulin Rouge!" Nini leapt to her feet. "I'm not saying I'm prettier than Satine, or a better singer, because I'm not! But I _am_ a better dancer – my god, I _taught_ the girl how to dance! The Sparkling Diamond is a dancer - not a singer, not the winner of a beauty contest – she is a _dancer_! Or at least, she _should_ be!"

Nini didn't wait for the shocked Arabia to respond – she turned around and ran away. As she was leaving, she heard Arabia say faintly, "I'm sorry, Nins…"

Now she's shortening my nickname? Nini thought with a small laugh, while at the same time trying to hold back tears.

"Nadine!"

It was the Argentinean. "I told you, Argie, please call me Nini." She sighed, turning toward him.

"Nini, then. Whatever." Nini blinked, taken aback. He was angry – angrier than she'd ever seen him. "Why did you do that?" he asked harshly.

She took an involuntary step back, but answered defensively. "I – I had to. Mother was the Sparkling Diamond, she was special, but a common can-can dancer can't support herself by dancing alone." She tried not to sound too bitter. "I'm _sorry_." She added, not a little rudely.

"You are sorry."

Nini sighed, knowing he was remembering their kiss. She stopped herself from apologizing again – it wouldn't help anything. "Argie – we're friends, right? I needed comfort from a friend, and you're the only friend – the only _real_ friend – I have now. And I know you understand what it's like to lose someone you love."

"How? How could you know that?"

"Roxanne wasn't just a friend, was she?" Argie had never said that he was the scorned lover in Roxanne's Tango, but Nini had always assumed it. No one could dance with that kind of heart-broken passion if they hadn't experienced it. Nini knew that now, with Desireé gone, more than ever.

Watching him react to her question more than confirmed her assumption. "I'm sorry." She said again, more gently. "But I'm not Nadine – she left with Desireé. I'm Nini – and Nini is a prostitute, because she has to be. I still want to be your friend though."

Argie nodded slowly, then said. "Dance with me." Argie took her hand and led her to the dancehall, just as he'd done countless times. Satie started to play, just as he had every time they had tangoed over the past few years. And they danced, just as they had hundreds of times. But somehow, it was different – Nini had never felt so much like Roxanne.

They danced for hours, never seeming to tire. Finally, Nini nearly fell over from unrealized exertion. Argie caught her before she lost her balance entirely, and said. "Maybe we should stop dancing now. We can't have you passing out tonight."

Nini shook her head sadly, wishing for nothing more than to keep dancing with him forever. Maybe then she wouldn't have to remember that Desireé had disappeared and that she'd given herself up to prostitution less than a week later.

As she was still about ready to collapse, Argie helped her off the floor and into a chair. "Thanks."

"Mm-hmm." Without warning, he bent down and kissed her again, not hard and not long, but it surprised her enough that she didn't have time to respond. "Good night, Nini."

Stunned, Nini watched him go. Maybe he thought she was more than a tango partner – maybe she _was_ more that his tango partner, but before she had time to process this, Satine came over and sat down next to her.

"Hey." She said.

Nini turned away pointedly. "Hi." Was the unenthusiastic answer.

There was a long moment of silence, and then Satine said, "So, did I do something wrong? Have I offended you in any way?"

"No." It was true, too. Satine had not asked for this job – Harold had given it to her. That didn't stop Nini from being angry with her.

"Look," Satine put a hand on Nini's shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry your mother disappeared, Nadine –"

Nini stood up, ripping free. "My name's Nini." She started to walk away, suddenly a lot more energetic.

Satine stood up too. "I'm sorry!" She continued, louder. "I really am, but it's not my fault. You know that, you must. So, what's wrong, Nadi…Nini?"

"Nothing," Nini muttered fiercely as she left the dance hall. Night was falling – she'd have to return soon, and be forced to watch Satine try to imitate Desireé again, but until then she'd rather not be in the same room as her former friend. Or spend the time thinking about her. Instead, Nini carefully touched her lips, bringing her thoughts back to Argie and the possible reasons for his sudden kiss.

**I know it wasn't the best chapter, but...please review?**


	11. Questions and Answers

**Chapter 11: Questions and Answers**

Desireé was on a train bound for England. She stared out the window listlessly, trying – and failing – to convince herself that she'd done the right thing.

She'd left a letter for Nadine, explaining where she was going and why she had left, along with an enclosed message for Harold, stipulating that Nadine was to be the Sparkling Diamond in her absence. Knowing Nadine, the message would be passed on and everything would be fine.

Still, she wondered, why had she written a letter to tell Nadine the things she could've just as easily spoken aloud?

She did know the answer to this question, much as she didn't want to admit it. She was ashamed. The letter had contained secrets, secrets that – like the fact that Nadine had a twin – had been kept so long that it seemed pointless to tell them, and unnecessary to keep them. Over and over, she wished she'd never decided that Nadine shouldn't know about Therésa.

Therésa. The longing that Desireé had always felt to see her other daughter again had recently been getting worse. Finally, on the night before the twins' twenty-first birthday, it had grown into something very close to physical pain, and Desireé felt she couldn't stand it any longer. She wrote the letters and laid them at the foot of Nadine's bed where she was sure to see them the next morning. She lightly kissed Nadine's forehead – just as she had Therésa's before giving her up to Charles – and left, taking care that no one see her go. She needn't have bothered, really – Harold wasn't anywhere nearby and all the girls she could see were…otherwise engaged and not paying her any attention at all.

The train and everyone on it were oblivious of her raging thoughts as they sped towards England. Towards Therésa. Despite the fact that she was leaving one daughter behind, Desirée could not help but feel excited about getting closer to the other. _Nadine will understand. She has to._ This thought seemed all too desperate.

Remembering Nadine had brought a tear to her eye and she quickly wiped it away. Not quickly enough however, because an old woman sitting across from her noticed. "All you all right, dear?" she asked.

"What?" Desirée turned from the window. "Oh, yes. Just – remembering my daughters." It felt nice to use 'daughters' in the plural, even to a stranger.

The woman smiled. "Ah, children." She said happily. "I love children. How old are your little ones?"

"Twenty-one."

"Oh?" she laughed. "Not so very little, then, are they?" Desirée shook her head, smiling. "But young yet, as are you. Why do you leave them?"

Desirée hesitated, then decided there was no harm in telling the truth. "Actually, I'm only leaving one of them. The other lives in England, with her father, Charles Atwood. I'm going to visit them."

The woman's eyes widened. "Charles Atwood? _Lord_ Atwood?" she gasped.

Lord? Charles was rich, certainly, but had he ever mentioned having a title as prestigious as _lord_? Desirée couldn't remember – it had been over twenty years, after all. "I don't know." She said finally, sticking to the truth once more, however disreputable it was. "I haven't seen him in...a very long time."

The woman seemed about to question her again, but thought better of it. "No," she said, almost to herself. "That's your business – and Lord Atwood's, if it's him, and your daughters'. It's certainly not mine."

Desirée gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thank you," she whispered. The tears were threatening again – her daughters' business? Yes, and she'd kept it from one of them. Her daughters' business. This simple phrase opened a whole new flood of questions.

What did Therésa know of her mother? Had Charles told her about the desperate prostitute at the Moulin Rouge? Or worse, did Therésa know nothing about her at all? Perhaps there was a Lady Atwood, who her daughter knew as mother. Would such a woman even consent to raising a whore's daughter? Surely Charles thought she'd have a better life there if he was so insistent that she live with him…exactly what was thought of bastard children in England?

Desirée cursed herself for not knowing more about British values.

She considered asking the woman, who had a British accent, but decided that would reveal more of her story than she wished to tell. She sighed heavily and decided there was nothing for it but to wait and – hopefully – her questions would be answered when she found Therésa…

Desirée woke up some time later as the train arrived at the port where a ferry would take them across the English Channel. She'd never been on any kind of boat before and immediately decided she didn't like it. When the journey was over, too many hours later, she was almost pathetically excited.

"I take it you don't like water," the woman from the train remarked dryly as Desirée left the ferry a little more than enthusiastically.

"No, I don't," Desirée said bluntly, then sighed and explained. "It's the constant motion. I guess you'd get used to it after awhile, but I'd really rather not. I'm a dancer, you see, and I like to be in control of my body. Having the sea underneath my feet takes away that control."

"Oh."

Desirée changed the subject. "Do you happen to know where I might find Lord Atwood?"

"Of course." The woman said brightly. "But I think we should get better acquainted first." Desirée raised her eyebrows. "What's your name, dear?"

"Desirée. Desirée Rousseau." She answered quickly. "And yours?"

"Maggie." The woman suddenly seemed mischievous. "Maggie…Atwood." She smiled pleasantly. "You know, Charles' mother?"

Closing her eyes, Desirée forced herself not to stammer. "Perhaps it is not the same Charles Atwood?"

"Oh no, the very same. You see, he talks of you often. The beautiful 'Sparkling Diamond' from the Moulin Rouge. I had been wanting to meet you."

"But that makes you –"

"The grandmother of your children, yes." The woman – Maggie Atwood - finished.

Desirée was momentarily speechless, but Maggie began walking down a nearby street, still talking as she beckoned Desirée to follow. "Before we go to see Charles, I'd like to talk to you. Over tea if you'd like."

Desirée hurriedly caught up with her. "Tea? I suppose. But what do you want to talk about?"

Maggie entered a teashop that was apparently well known to her, saying, "Several things – first and most importantly is how my grandchildren multiplied so quickly. As far as I knew Charles as only one daughter, Diamond, but you speak of two. Please, clarify."

Desirée paused, then asked. "What did Charles say about – well, about me? The circumstances we met in?"

Maggie seemed to recognize this as a way of answering the first question, so she did not protest the change of subject. "He said that he'd never seen anyone so lovely. He said he fell in love at first sight, though he knew that was forbidden, with you. He said he wished you were in a different profession."

"I am, now," Desirée murmured, half to herself. "I'm a dancer…"

Love? Charles had never acted as though he loved her – he had acted just like any of the countless other patrons of the Moulin Rouge. And whatever the case, she certainly didn't love him back. She sighed and shook her head. "I wanted them – both of them. I know I wasn't old enough to mother one child, let alone two but they were mine and I loved them more than life." She took a deep breath and continued. "When Charles came back, I was afraid he would try to take both, so I lied and only gave him one.

This time, Desirée did not try to stop the tears and they fell freely. "And I – I'll never forgive myself for that. Ever since, I've had this hole in my heart where I know she should've been. And I want her back."

**A/N: So, I did some, though not much, research on the English Channel - I wanted to know how long the journey across would've taken. I got answers everywhere from 4 weeks (in the Middle Ages) to 2 hours (now) to "****... ****... ****...****" (time period ?). I am not joking about the last one - it's on . I copy-and-pasted it because it was just too strange. So instead I decided Desirée wasn't a water person, making any time period too long - I hope that wasn't too random.**

**I anticipate two, possibly three more chapters for this. If you haven't read 'If Only You Knew' and 'How She Felt' yet, I really suggest you do - like ASAP. I'm planning for the last chapter to take place right before the epilogue of 'If Only You Knew' so that could be confusing...**

**Please review!**


	12. Diamond

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Moulin Rouge.**

**Chapter 12: Diamond**

Désirée stared up at the mansion in front of her, wondering whether this was such a good idea. Yes, she did want to see Therésa again, but had never thought that would mean seeing Charles again as well. It was, she now realized, foolish of her to have over-looked that, but still…

"Well, come on Miss Rousseau! I thought you wanted to see your daughter." Maggie said, beckoning her forward.

"I do, but Madame Atwood…I haven't seen Charles in twenty years, I don't think –"

"Oh, don't worry about Charles," Interrupted Maggie. "I don't even think he's home right now. Come on."

Hesitantly, Désirée followed her up the steps to the front door, but quickly grabbed Maggie's hand to stop her from knocking. "Is he married?" she asked, suddenly panicked.

"Charles? Not as far as I know, but he is impulsive, so…" Somewhat relieved, Désirée let go of her hand and a few seconds later, the door was opened by a maid. "Good afternoon." Maggie said. "Is Miss Atwood at home?"

"Yes, ma'am." The maid curtsied and invited them into a comfortable sitting room.

As the maid left, Désirée realized she was wringing her hands nervously. "Stop it," Maggie told her severely. "Stop worrying – Diamond will love you."

"Diamond? But I thought…" Before she could continue, the doors to the sitting room opened again and the maid showed 'Diamond' through them.

"Grandmother!" she cried, hurrying across the room to embrace the old woman. "How did you like France? Is Paris as beautiful as father says? Tell me everything, please!" she spoke excitedly, and Désirée was reminded of Nadine. She looked like Nadine to, identical in nearly every feature. Every thing, except hair color – Nadine's hair had always been as dark as Désirée's own, but Therésa's – Diamond's – was like spun gold. Finally, Diamond noticed her, "Who's this, Grandmother?"

"Well, are you going to introduce yourself?" Maggie urged.

"I'm – Désirée Rousseau." She said after a pause. Diamond's mouth opened; apparently the name was known to her.

"But then you're – you are my – my…"

"Mother, dearest. I'm your mother."

The rest of the afternoon passed as a blur for Désirée. Diamond, who had been told everything about Charles' stay at the Moulin Rouge, was very excited to learn that she had a sister. With an enthusiasm that Désirée was starting to think was characteristic, she asked question after question about her twin.

"She's a dancer? I've never learned how to dance – never really been interested. Father says education is more important anyway. But I love music, and watching other people dance. What does she look like?" It seemed that she wanted to know everything about this suddenly discovered relation and in-between every question she added something about herself. By the end of a few hours, Désirée felt like she'd known Diamond for years.

"Désirée. I've always thought that was such a pretty name." Diamond said happily. "Mother…" she added. Désirée couldn't tell whether the hesitation in her voice was because of the unfamiliar word, or because of whatever thought had just struck her.

"Yes?"

"When Father came for me…why didn't he bring you and Nadine with him too? Why did he only take me?"

Désirée was silent for a few seconds, wondering how to answer. But she had decided on the train that she was done lying to her daughters, so she settled on the truth. "I lied to him. I said we only had one child – he doesn't even know Nadine exists."

"Well, yes…" Diamond answered slowly, "I assumed that – he would've told me about her otherwise. But, I mean, why didn't all of you come back to England? Why couldn't we have all been a family from the beginning?"

The idea was an entirely new one for Désirée. "What, you mean why didn't Charles and I get married or something?" Diamond nodded eagerly. The very fact that Charles had returned to the Moulin Rouge for his child in the first place had been strange – but Diamond had not grown up in a brothel. She could not know that prostitutes did not marry their patrons. Ever. And Désirée would never have consented to being his mistress either, not that he'd asked her to.

"What did he tell you about me? How he felt about me?" Maggie – who had left about an hour before – had said he'd loved her, and she was curious as to whether he'd told their daughter the same. If so, it was not surprising she thought they should've gotten married.

Diamond hesitated. "I – I'm not sure. He said you were beautiful, but that's not a feeling. It's a fact." Désirée smiled. "Umm…I guess I don't know if he's really said how he felt about you. Strange, isn't it – he went into such great detail about the Moulin Rouge, but never actually mentioned what he felt about its Sparkling Diamond! Stranger still that I never noticed it!" she laughed.

"Yes, very strange." She sighed. Désirée realized, slightly frustrated, that she was going to have to ask this question to Charles himself. Ever since Maggie had mentioned love, she'd been longing to know if it was true. That information, she knew, couldn't be gotten from anyone else.

"Why, how did you feel about him?" Diamond asked curiously.

"That's a good question. I have no idea." Désirée sighed again. For years, she'd tried to suppress any memory she had of Charles – without much success – and focus on bringing up Nadine. But now…now she was in his sitting room, talking to his daughter – she couldn't ignore his memory any longer. And Diamond was his daughter, much more than she was hers. Any fears that Diamond had been at all mistreated had been unfounded – as far as Désirée could tell, Charles had been the perfect, loving father.

This seemed to be a different man than she'd known at the Moulin, and was beginning to want to meet him.

**A/N: So, what do we think of Diamond? I know she came into 'If Only You Knew' but not very much. (If you haven't read 'If Only You Knew' now really is the time) I meant to only have two chapters of pure OC's - one describing Dezzy's journey to England and the other explaining why she stayed, but as happens so often, it didn't work out that way. **

**By the way, are there any preferences as to whether Dezzy should fall in love with Charles? I'm not sure, so your feedback would really be appreciated! And also, any ideas as to _why_ she stayed in England, instead of going back for Nadine, or at least contacting her somehow? This is a plot hole in my head and I don't know what to do about it Help! Please.**

**Please review (preferably with ideas...)**


	13. Electricity

**Chapter 13: Electricity**

"Electricity!" Harold cried triumphantly, pounding his desk excitedly.

For a few seconds, Nini couldn't say anything. Her mouth hung open slightly, in silent shock. Finally, single word made it's way out. "What!"

"Electricity," he repeated slowly. "Electric lighting. Electricity will solve all our problems."

Nini closed her eyes, forcing herself to remain calm. She rather doubted there was anything would solve all their problems, with the possible exception of Désirée's return – and electricity…electricity was expensive, and would only add to the debt that had been piling up over the years.

Secretly Nini was happy. Not about the debt itself, so much as the fact that it had begun almost immediately after Désirée had disappeared and Satine had become Sparkling Diamond. This conveniently allowed her to blame Satine for everything. Nini knew why too – it was because Satine was a courtesan. It simply wasn't as alluring, she insisted to Arabia several times a day, to have a Sparkling Diamond who acted like all the other girls. Prostitutes were just too common.

"She's not really a Sparkling Diamond," Nini would add scathingly whenever she said this. "Sparkling, yes, but she's no jewel! Just sparkles!" And after her first such exclamation, Nini refused to call Satine by her name, referring to her only as 'Sparkles.'

Arabia, however, was as enamored (or more so) with Satine as everyone else, and would only shake her head. Occasionally, she'd giggle, and say mockingly, "I suppose you could do better then? Face it, Nini, you're just jealous!"

Just jealous, was she? Well, maybe. But she also thought that, yes, she could do it better. Not that Harold was likely to ever give her that chance.

Time had gone on without Désirée – years had passed without her, though Nini was quite sure how. She lived from night to night, with little awareness of more than one day at a time. Sparkles sang. Argie tangoed. Toulouse got drunk, painted, and drank some more. Over and over again. Life went on, increasingly patterned.

And everyday, as a part of that pattern, the Moulin Rouge lost a little more money.

Harold had done everything he could to convince himself that there was something he could do to stop their downward spiral – but unlike Nini, he saw Sparkles only as an asset, so replacing her with someone better (a.k.a. Nini) never even crossed his mind.

What he did do was spend even more money on renovations and 'improvements' to the Moulin. Fresh paint soon glistened everywhere and any rot in the wood was fixed. The can-can dresses became more brilliantly coloured and their necklines mysteriously inched lower. Even the dances were re-choreographed to be wilder.

Nothing made the least bit of difference. It anything, the constant spending only sped their decline into bankruptcy.

And now, he had only this one idea left. "Electricity?" Nini forced her voice to stop shaking. "Harold, are you sure about this?"

"Of course! It's the best solution! The only solution! This will allow the Moulin Rouge to become more respectable again!" He cried happily.

"Oh, spare me the theatrics, Zidler." Nini groaned, sinking into the nearest chair. She leaned closer to his desk, speaking in a low, harsh tone. "You realize what will happen if this doesn't work, which in all probability, it won't? We'll be further in debt than ever, there will be no way to regain the money you spend on this idiotic venture, and we will all end up on the streets! Including you and your precious Sparkling Diamond!" Nini was proud of herself. She hadn't let her voice raise above a regular speaking volume during her whole speech. Well, not much above, anyway. "Why can't you ever do anything practical?"

Harold lowered his bushy eyebrows, glaring at her for not loving his 'wonderful' new idea. "And what would you suggest is a 'practical' plan of action?"

Make me the Sparkling Diamond. Not likely. He wouldn't do that, even if she convinced him it would work – he'd never willingly give up Sparkles. She didn't even bother mentioning it. "Get Sparkles to quit prostitution." She said instead. "Tell her to focus on her performance – on improving as a dancer and a singer." Harold immediately began spluttering incoherently, but Nini wasn't done. "It makes her more desirable, Harold. Just try it."

"That would ruin her!" He finally managed to get some intelligible words out. "Not to mention us!"

"You were the one who said electricity would make the place more respectable!" Nini cried. "But you don't actually want that, no! You realize I'm living off of prostitution, supported by dancing – remember when it used to be the other way around? Remember Désirée? She was the Sparkling Diamond, and she never even needed to sell herself! Why can't Sparkles be the same?" Her goal of getting through the meeting without shouting had just vanished.

Harold sighed. "Yes, Nini. I remember Désirée. But times have changed, and Satine…I doubt she could do it."

I could do it… Again, the thought went unspoken. "I see." She said quietly. "Well, do what you want, Harold. But I do not agree with this. Not at all. And if we all end up on the streets, it will be your fault and no one else's!" She stormed out of the office, angrily slamming the door behind her.

Why, she wondered, half running towards the dancehall. Why did Harold insist on running a business, or trying to, at any rate? Any fool with half a brain could see that he was really a performer at heart, and a good one at that. Maybe if he spent more time in the dancehall and let someone who actually had some business sense run things, the Moulin Rouge would actually profitable!

Ha! As if! Harold's not going to let anyone else run the Moulin! He'd bankrupt it first. And probably will.

Still fuming, Nini went in search of Argie. Lately, dancing with him was the only thing that could calm her down properly.

She quickly found him, sitting on one of the tables in the dancehall. Without a word of explanation, she grabbed his hand and began dancing at a furious speed. Argie easily adjusted to the new tempo – after all, the danced together almost everyday. "You seem upset." He remarked after a few seconds.

"You're so observant." Nini muttered. "Harold wants to electrify the Moulin." Argie nearly stumbled – a first for him. He regained his balance and stared at her. "You know, electric lighting?"

"I know what electricity is! Expensive, that's what." Argie cried. "Is he mad?"

Nini stopped herself from grinning, but she was secretly glad she wasn't the only one to see this plan as a harebrained one. "Well, yes, I think so," she answered gravely. "Although…maybe if he bankrupts us, I'll finally be forced to leave." She brightened, apparently visibly, at the prospect.

"If you want to leave, why don't you?" Argie asked. "Unlike some of the other girls, you are good, and unlike Satine, you do not have anything like a contract to keep you here – you could walk away tonight and have another, better job by tomorrow morning."

Nini was stunned. The idea that she could leave voluntarily – just walk away…it had never occurred to her. Now that Argie had said it, however, she knew why. "What if she comes back, Argie? What if…what if she comes back, and I'm not here?"

"Oh," Their dance slowed, and when Argie spoke again, his tone had softened. "Nini…it's been five years. Don't you think, if she was going to come back, she would've already?"

"No!" Shaking her head violently, Nini stopped dancing completely. She dropped his hands and backed up a few steps. "No, I don't believe that. I can't believe that. Please."

For a few minutes, neither of them said anything. Then, with all the proficiency that comes from being dance partners for years, they moved together as one and Nini was in Argie's arms again. She couldn't help thinking that it was a place she liked to be…and that she may just have to keep her night open, tonight…

**Due to the lack of all response to my plea for ideas last chapter, I have had to let Desiree's fate continue to hang in the balance in England. All I know about her right now is that she doesn't return to the Moulin Rouge for at least the five years in between the last chapter and this. _Technically, _this was supposed to be chapter 14, with the explanation as to why she doesn't come back in chapter 13, but I can't write such a chapter without inspiration. So, this one was already written and I decided to post it. The next one's mostly written too, but I _really_ want to go back to Desiree first. **

**So _please_ give me _some_ indication of what you want to happen to Desiree! In other words: review review!**


	14. The Influence of Sarah Bernhardt

**Chapter 14**

"I knew it! I knew it! I told you so! You should've listened to me…"

Sparkles groaned and rolled her eyes. "When you've finished gloating, Nini, maybe you could think of a brilliant idea to fix it. You're the self-proclaimed genius, after all." She replied.

Nini threw back her head and laughed. "No, because you see," she chortled, voice thick with the large quantities of Absinthe she was consuming. "You see, it's not my fault. I denied any responsibility in the beginning and now, everyone is paying for not listening to me."

"Everyone including you!" Sparkles cried, frustrated. "Give me that!" she snatched the bottle of Absinthe and took a long drink from it. Nini protested weakly, still in hysterics of triumphant laughter.

"Ach! You think I have to stay here?" she struggled to sit up. "I don't need to stay, I could leave whenever I want…today, maybe. I only stay because…because…why do I stay again?" Nini gasped.

They were in Sparkles' elephant – it was her 'bedroom' for special guests. Usually foreign royalty. The result of one Harold's improvements during his spending binge. Nearly everything in the room was red or otherwise arousing. Nini was lazily sprawling on the bed while Sparkles paced in front of her.

"Maybe you stay because you don't have anywhere else to go." Sparkles suggested.

"Nah, that's not it…oh well. The point is, sister, that this is your problem, and Harold's, not mine. So you should probably start trying to fix it."

The electricity idea had been a complete failure. Sure, it had boosted profits for about a week, but not nearly enough to make any sort of difference. Nini had been nearly delirious with happiness that she had been proven right – the result of which had led her to downing almost an entire bottle of Absinthe in a matter of minutes, the remains of which Sparkles now held.

Sparkles finished the nearly empty bottle and threw it aside. It landed on a pillow with a most unsatisfying thump. "You've got too much fabric in here, Sparkles…" Nini commented, laying back on the bed. Sparkles threw her a dirty look.

"Ugh!" Sparkles groaned again and stomped over to her mirror. "Oh, Sarah," she said to the picture of Sarah Bernhardt, her favorite actress. "What are we going to do? What should we do?"

"Somehow, I don't think Sarah is about to answer." Nini said. But Sparkles was staring at her picture almost as if it were talking back to her. Suddenly, she turned back towards Nini.

"That's it!" she cried excitedly.

"What! You're not saying she actually did tell you something…"

"No, no, don't be ridiculous. Be she gave me an idea – acting." Nini sat up again, half-interested. "Nini, dancehalls are so common! What we need is a theatre – we could make the Moulin Rouge a theatre! What do you think?"

Fighting the urge to break into laughter once more, Nini said, "I think you're crazier than Harold."

Sparkles sighed and sat down next to her. "You're probably right. As usual."

But the idea was the kind that stuck. Yes, they were nearly broke, but unlike dancehalls, Nini knew that theatres had things like 'investors' who were willing to pay large sums of money – thousands of francs! – to help put on a production. Finding one of those could be a challenge, but Harold knew everybody who was anybody; surely he could find someone.

Even as Nini left Sparkles' elephant, she knew this idea – one every bit as ludicrous as electricity had been – was slowly taking hold in her mind. Every girl at the Moulin Rouge had some kind of background in show business and what was acting if not a type of show business? They would not lack for actresses. The male actors might be a bit of a problem, but…

"You can't be serious, Nini!" she told herself firmly. "You're not actually thinking about this like it would actually work!"

And yet, somehow, she felt that it might in fact, actually work. She found herself unconscious delegating the Bohemians to different jobs – Toulouse could be in charge of stage and costume design. Satie could write the music (it'd have to be a musical, of course). Argie could choreograph the dances…she was a little bit worried about Audrey's lack of skill at writing, but if all else failed, they could have him (her?) write the script.  
And Sparkles…Sparkles would be the star, of course. Harold wouldn't have it any other way, Nini knew that. Still, she couldn't help feel a little disappointed at the idea.

Nini spent about a week trying to get the idea out of her head. It appeared that Sparkles had taken Nini at her word that her idea was a bad one, and said not another word about it. So now, after she'd been proven right, at least one person was smart enough to believe her.

"Hey! Sparkles!"

The 'Sparkling Diamond' sighed and turned around. She had long been used to the nickname, and now did not even protest against it (out loud, anyway). "What?"

Nini hesitated. She disliked admitting she might have been wrong, especially to Sparkles, but it had to be done if they wanted the Moulin Rouge to have an sort of a future. "You…remember your idea? About the theatre?"

"Yeah. You said it wouldn't work. And as you so adamantly told me, you're always right."

Nini forced herself not to grin. "That was before. I've thought about it and now…I'm not so sure. If Harold could find an investor –"  
Sparkles shook her head. "No, you were right. It's a bad idea and would only send us farther into debt. Maybe bankrupt us completely." She turned away.

"You know what it would mean for you, right?" Nini called after her. Sparkles hesitated. "You'd be the star, you know that. You could become an actress. A real one – like Sarah Bernhardt. You could be rid of this place forever." She jerked her head at the windmill.

"An actress?" It was a dream of hers, Nini knew. They'd talked about it all the time, back when they were friends. Sparkles looked back at Nini. "Why are you so interested in this anyway?" She asked suddenly suspicious. "I thought you didn't care what happened to me, or the Moulin."

"I don't." Was the immediate answer. "But I care what happens to me, and this would be just as helpful to me as it would to you."

"So tell Harold about it."

"He won't listen to me." Nini retorted shortly. "He never does. But he'd listen to you, and besides it was your idea in the first place." Sparkles seemed hesitant. Nini shrugged. "Look, talk to him, don't talk to him. It doesn't really matter to me. But just remember, this might be your chance to make it as an actress in the real world." With that, she walked away, leaving a thoughtful Sparkles behind her.

Nini wasn't sure how it happened – Sparkles must've spoken to Harold, but she never said anything about it. Before another week was up, however, rumors were flying around the Moulin Rouge about how Harold was inviting a Duke to the Moulin Rouge. This Duke, the rumors said, was going to pay a large amount of money to help them with their problems, and in return he'd get Sparkles. Nothing new there.

How much he was going spend – and why – was never discussed, but everyone seemed to know that he was more than the average customer. The bohemians, who were apparently in on whatever was going on, began spending hours at a time in their room and it was rumored that they were 'rehearsing.'

In spite of herself, Nini felt excitement growing inside her as the day the Duke would come sped closer. Finally, it arrived. She and the other girls were backstage getting ready for that night's show and wondering whether it would be their last. Despite the lack of solid information, no one seemed to doubt that the Duke was going to change everything.

"Sparkles!" Nini cried, pushing her way through the crowded room. "This is a very important night Sparkles."

Sparkles laughed. "You think I don't know that? I do."

"Well, just…don't mess up."

**A/N: ****If you've read 'How She Felt,' then you know that this chapter leads right into it. If you haven't, there will be a point where I will say go read it now or else the story won't make any sense. Probably next chapter.**

****** This story is _not_ over however, as she still has to reconcile with Desiree. **I know I said I wanted to go back to Desiree first, but things change. I do know what's going to happen with Dezzy now (or at least, I have a loose idea of it) thanks to a review from Trakrat. Thank you! I still need to know whether you want her to fall in love with Charles though.

**So review, read How She Felt and If Only You Knew if you haven't yet, and I hope you are enjoying this story!**


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